


Never Fight Fair With a Stranger

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur, Dancing, Gay Sex, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Eames (Inception)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Eames has a routine after a job, and it's not usually hard to find someone to help him out with it. This time, though, he finds the most unlikely person possible.Or, Arthur and Eames meet unexpectedly in a club and smut ensues.





	Never Fight Fair With a Stranger

Eames wasn’t as lackadaisical in his professional life as he appeared. Like most successful professionals--of any stripe--he had a way he did things. Routine was important, and just as he always followed the same steps to cook a risotto or clean a gun (both things he did frequently and well), he always followed a distinct set of steps to begin, work through, and end a job.

Most of Eames’ routines were so subtle that nothing short of full-time surveillance would reveal them. Some of them weren’t even fully recognizable to himself. He always unpacked in the same order; he moved furniture in his hotel rooms if necessary, to get as close as possible to his preferred layout. He superstitiously bought new socks before every job’s first day, and threw away his razor before he left any hotel room. But the people he worked with didn’t know these things, and he kept himself from too many routines in their presence, changing up this lunch orders and his clothes and his personas as often as possible. It would never do to be predictable.

At the end of a successful job, Eames’ routine was simple--sex, as quickly as possible. In many cities, he had friends with whom this was easy enough to arrange. While he wasn’t above a one-night pick-up, Eames’ preference was always someone he’d been with before, someone with whom he already knew he could connect. Ideally, someone he liked. He wasn’t fussed about whether his lovers were male or female, or whether he’d seen them just last week or not for years. When a job ended, he just wanted another body, someone to touch him and remind him that no matter who he’d just pretended to be, he was who he was. 

This job was in Chicago. It had been long and cold and frustrating. The extractor was new and had a lot to learn. The architect changed the layout so often it was difficult to remember what one was intended to dream on any given day. The weather was abysmal--Eames hadn’t felt truly warm for weeks. 

Then there was Arthur. Since the Fischer job, Eames had worked with Arthur more. Mostly, it was a good thing--with the success of inception still strumming through his veins, Arthur was the best there was, his imagination no longer hidden under worry. He was a good point man, the perfect, deadly force to have at your back in a dream or outside one. Eames felt lucky to work with him. But that was only part of it. The other part was a trial. The attraction Eames had always felt for Arthur had magnified since the Fischer job, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to hide it under pigtail-pulling. Several times, recently, Eames had surprised himself when he realized he wasn’t just trying to irritate Arthur, he was actually coming on to him. Arthur’s dry response made it clear just how unlikely Eames was to succeed in that endeavor.

Though he typically had a “date” before the money for a job ever hit his account, this time Eames hit a snag. Or a couple of them, really. He knew two people in Chicago with whom he’d previously had nice evenings. One of them had, since his last trip to town, gotten herself married. The other he had, apparently, run out on too soon last time and burned that bridge. So it was that he found himself still in Chicago, the night after a finished job, alone. So it was he moved on to Plan B.

It had been longer than he’d like to admit since Eames visited a gay club. It wasn’t a lack of interest so much as one of time, and of priorities. There had certainly been a time in his life when he liked nothing as much as to go out and see what he could pull, but he was older now. Still, he was certain he hadn’t forgotten the basics. He dressed carefully, looking at himself skeptically in the hotel mirror. He left his hair loose, unlikely cowlicks and all, and dressed in jeans, adding a plain white button down over the top and considering a bit before unbuttoning one more button than was really respectable. Eames wasn’t a huge fan of the kind of role-playing that was sometimes necessary in these situations. It was always best, he thought, to simply show his assets for what they were. To that end, he flexed comically at himself in the mirror, noting the way the cotton of his shirt strained over his biceps. “That’ll work,” he muttered, shoving his wallet in his pocket and grabbing his phone.

The club was indistinguishable from a million others. The music was loud and bass-driven, the bodies were sweaty and close-packed. It was already late, and Saturday, so it was crowded and loud. Just what Eames had expected. He had a quick drink while scanning the room. He wasn’t picking anybody out just yet, but getting the lay of the land. He saw a few men who would probably work. Eames wasn’t sure to what extent he had a “type”--he’d happily been with just about any size and shape person you could imagine. That said, in a situation like this, he naturally gravitated towards the smaller, younger end of the spectrum. When he was dealing with someone he didn’t know, he liked to be sure he was going to be the one in the driver’s seat. Looking like he did, it was easy enough to make that happen.

Eames didn’t enjoy dancing. It was fine, he could do it well enough not to humiliate himself, but it wasn’t something he’d choose to do for fun. He knew that it was, for many people of any gender, public foreplay, but for him, it felt more like work. Again, though, needs must. 

As Eames moved along the edges of the room, not dancing so much as rhythmically walking, he paused occasionally to allow himself to be seen. He made eye contact with a blonde boy, but he was too young, and was hanging on a big, dark-skinned man. Too much drama there. As he’d remembered being the case, there were a good number of young, fey men about, dancing individually or together, as if putting their wares on display. One of them would likely do, though Eames felt no thrum of excitement at the idea. He reminded himself that it wasn’t so late as to need to be completely non-discerning. That had never worked out well in the past. 

Then Eames saw Arthur. He was dancing alone, dressed in a way Eames had never seen before, his hair loose. He seemed completely at ease, confident and comfortable. He looked like he was having fun. He was, Eames realized as he moved closer, sweaty, and must have been at it for a while. Without even thinking about it, Eames moved behind him, pushing in close. When Arthur leaned back, Eames steadied one hand at his hip, over the damp cotton of his t-shirt. As Arthur’s head tilted toward his shoulder, he breathed in, the scent of overpriced cologne and starch and anxiety one he’d recognize anywhere. A second after it hit his nose, he felt it all the way down in his balls. 

Eames leaned in, pulling Arthur a bit closer. “Didn’t expect to meet you here.”

Arthur’s body stopped moving. Behind him, Eames stopped moving too, waiting to see how Arthur would react to being caught out. He couldn’t resist, though, leaning forward and inhaling that intoxicating Arthur smell. “Don’t stop on my account. You were so lovely.” 

“Eames, what are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice was uncharacteristically loud. He was startled. Eames grinned. No matter what else came of it, it was a good day when he could knock Arthur off his guard.

“Same thing as you are, I’d imagine.” It thrilled Eames to no end to know that buttoned-up Arthur wasn’t above going out to a club after a job and picking up a fuck. It changed his whole perspective on the man. And looking like this, too. He couldn’t help himself, running a hand up his side and reveling in his sweaty dampness. “Though likely not as well. How is it you haven’t been dragged out of here yet?”

“I’m particular,” Arthur huffed. He was blushing, the tips of his ears getting pink. Eames couldn’t believe he hadn’t pulled away.

Eames laughed. “Why am I not surprised?” When the music changed, he thought Arthur would use that moment to break away, but he didn’t, so Eames decided he may as well keep pushing. He put his other hand on Arthur’s other hip, letting his fingers graze his navel. “Why don’t you stay where you are, darling?” Eames began to move his body again, more slowly than was appropriate to the song. “I think you want to.”

God knew Eames wanted him to. A chance with Arthur would be the best possible outcome of this night--of any night, really. Arthur’s body felt perfect adjacent to his, he couldn’t have invented anybody better. “I don’t mix work and pleasure, Eames.” Arthur’s voice was low, and trying to sound stern. His body told a different story. 

“I don’t see anybody working here, love.” Eames took another risky step, tightened his grip, slotting Arthur’s narrow back against his chest and moving his mouth even closer to Arthur’s ear, so that his lips brushed it as he spoke. “But I see the potential for all kinds of pleasure.”

Eames felt Arthur considering it--you could almost hear his wheels turning. It was such a rush to realize that he wanted to, even against his better judgment. No reason not to keep pushing. Eames tightened his grip on Arthur’s hips and began to grind slowly against him. When Arthur pushed back, he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Eames was quiet as they danced, paying close attention to the responses of Arthur’s body, trying to guess whether he’d allow it to go farther. Arthur appeared increasingly pliant, and he was hopeful, but it was still startling when Arthur leaned back against his shoulder, craning his neck to meet his gaze, and said, “you know I’m not drunk right now, right?”

“Didn’t think you were.” It honestly hadn’t occurred to him. Nothing in Arthur’s posture had suggested it.

“I’m just blowing off steam.”

Eames struggled to keep his smile in check. Poor Arthur, angry and embarrassed to be caught out. He wanted to reassure him, telling him it was more than OK, and that he didn’t think a single wit less of him--much the opposite. But that wouldn’t be welcome, so he settled for “I don’t need an explanation.” 

“Fine.” 

That terse little voice. Time to move in again. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur tightly, making sure Arthur was aware of his entire body behind him. He lowered his voice to Arthur’s ear, reaching his tongue out to touch it. “Wipe that snarl off your face, darling. This is going to be fun.”

“We’ll see.” He was trying to play cool, but Eames saw him shiver. It was go time.

“Now now,” Eames teased, grinding against Arthur’s ass hard, making sure his burgeoning erection was felt. “Trust me.” 

Arthur paused just a moment, then reached back and grabbed Eames’ thigh, pulling him further in and grinding back against him hard. “Fine,” he said. “Show me your fun.” His breathy voice nearly knocked Eames over. This was too perfect to be true. 

Eames wasted no time steering Arthur toward the edge of the floor. When Arthur turned, his eyes widened. He stared, his gaze rolling slowly over Eames’ messy hair, his jeans, and especially his tight shirt with its open collar. Eames hadn’t ever really considered the possibility that he would be Arthur’s type, at least not beyond being generally attractive and of Arthur’s prefered sex, but that look was unmistakable--he’d seen it enough to know. Arthur liked the ink. “See something you want?” Eames asked, forcing his voice all the way down into its roughest place. 

“Yes.” To Eames’ incredulity, Arthur looked up through his lashes and licked his lips, making no attempt not to look fey. “Can I have it?” 

The bottom nearly dropped from Eames’ stomach. He could not believe what he was seeing. Not only had Arthur been in a club, trying to pull, he’d responded favorably to Eames’ advances, and now he was putting on a particular and enticing kind of show just for him. How could this possibly be real? He wanted to reach for his totem. He smiled widely. “I don’t know. Do you deserve it?”

Eames fully expected an eye roll and a snarky comment, but instead, Arthur reached toward him and started ran his long, tapered fingers down his chest. Eames instinctively flexed his pectorals and grinned at Arthur’s intake of breath. “I think you know I do,” Arthur said, his voice that same soft, teasing tone Eames had never even imagined he could use. His hand ran down further and flicked the waistband of Eames’ jeans.

Eames didn’t try to stifle his soft groan. As enticing as this was, he needed to know where it was headed before he ended up with a severe and unrelenting case of blue balls. Normally, he’d know exactly how to play this, based on his read of the man he was picking up, but this was Arthur, and those signals would never come unmixed. “So tell me, Arthur,” he said in a low voice, “what point are we at right now, for you? Is this a “buy you a few drinks” situation, or a “drag you to the toilets” situation, or a “take you back to mine” situation? Because I can play it any way you want, but you may as well let me know what you’ve got in mind.”

Eames was surprised to see Arthur frown at the question. Had he misunderstood? There was no way; Arthur’s hand was still on his chest. Arthur met his eyes. “This is a figure it for yourself, I’m off the clock situation.”

Oh. OH. It suddenly cleared, like sediment in a river. The part Arthur was playing here was one where he didn’t take the lead. This was the opposite of the Arthur Eames knew, and it seemed odd, but it was who he was here, and he was willing to continue it with Eames. His heart leapt into his throat. This just kept getting better. “Why Arthur, you do surprise me,” he said, sticking his hand into one of Arthur’s back pockets and squeezing a big handful of that amazing arse. “Let’s go, then.” 

Under a streetlight, Eames let himself go, putting his hands all over Arthur, a niggling worry chasing him, afraid that Arthur would suddenly come to his senses and change his mind. His hands ran over Arthur’s ribs, around his waist, over his ass. He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. He pulled Arthur closer to him and grinned when Arthur wrapped an arm around his neck in a gesture that felt like surrender. 

It was a fight, but in the cab, Eames kept his hands to himself. He couldn’t stop looking at Arthur, though, at his tight little jeans and his curling hair. He nearly gasped aloud when he realized Arthur was wearing eyeliner. Never in a million years...Finally, he had to ask: “Do you always look like this when you’re not working?” 

Once again, Arthur pulled a face. “No talking about work,” he said tersely. “I thought you said this was going to be fun?” His tone lightened on that last bit, and Eames got it. Arthur didn’t even want to think about the other person he was, the one that Eames knew. OK, he could do that.

Eames reached a palm over and placed it gently on Arthur’s thigh. Not groping, but showing intent. “Oh Arthur,” he said softly, “I had no idea.” He truly hadn’t. This was one of those rare, true surprises. 

In the elevator, too, Eames forced himself to keep his hands off Arthur. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, he felt like it would break the spell to attempt to bring what had happened at the club into the hotel, a space Arthur connected with work. He only hoped that by the time the interminable ride ended and they were in his room, that heat could engulf them again. 

He needn’t have worried. As soon as the hotel room door closed, he was on Arthur, and Arthur was clearly all in. Eames pushed him against the wall and kissed him, hard, demanding. He’d thought more than once about what it would be like to have Arthur’s mouth under his, to push inside it with his tongue. He’d underestimated the experience. 

Eames loved kissing. Sure, it was often a precursor to more, but he loved it for it’s own sake. Being allowed to explore something as personal and vital as someone’s mouth, and to use his own mouth to do it, was an intense high of its own. He loved having things in his mouth in general, and there were few that rated so highly as someone else’s tongue. He kissed Arthur hard and well, slipping a thigh between his legs naturally, and lost himself in the sensation, letting his mind go blessedly blank. 

After he pulled away to breathe, Eames looked again at Arthur in his little t-shirt, how much smaller he looked than he did when he was all wrapped up in his tailored suits. He had to see what was underneath. He pulled the soft gray cotton over Arthur’s head, then stepped back to look. It was too dim. “Come here,” he ordered, grabbing Arthur's hand and pulling him toward the lamp. “I want to see you.”

He’d known Arthur’s frame was small, but it was considerably frailer than he’d thought. Trust Arthur to hide that. He had almost no hair, just a thin, dark trail running into his jeans. The muscles under his thin, pale shoulders were taut. Goddamn, Eames thought, he’s a perfect little twink under there. The contrast, the chasm of difference between this skinny shirtless Arthur with his tight jeans and his eyeliner, and the one that Eames knew, with the suit and the frown and the gun, was enough to make him lightheaded. When he spoke again, his voice was low with desire. “Get the rest of your kit off. I want to see all of you.” He wasn’t sure what Arthur would make of being ordered around, as he tended to do in the bedroom naturally, but it seemed right. 

Arthur was far more graceful wiggling out of those skinny jeans than Eames would have thought possible. His movements were economical, much more those of the point man than those of the twink. It combination once again hit Eames in the gut.

Once Arthur was naked, Eames walked around him, taking in every inch. The bottom half, like the top, was smaller and paler than he’d imagined, with the important exception of his cock, which was hard and dark and cut and lovely. He ran a hand down Arthur’s side and was gratified by the shiver is caused. “You’re stunning,” he muttered, enchanted. His mind swirled with the things he’d like to do to this body, to see it do. Had it been anybody else, he would just set about doing them, but this was Arthur, and he’d best be sure. “Are there hard lines here?” he asked, waiting to be given a list of rules. “If there are, you should tell me now.”

The expression that ran across Arthur’s face was hard to read. Confused, amused, impressed? He shook his head. “I can take whatever you’ve got.” There was that cocky, combative tone he recognized.

Eames smiled, feeling his teeth move slightly over his lower lip. Hard not to read that as a challenge. He picked Arthur up off the ground, amazed at how light he really was, and threw him on the hotel bed. Then he climbed on top of him, pushing his shoulders back hard to make sure his full size was appreciated. Leaning down, he captured Arthur’s slightly open mouth again, hot and hard, pushing his hips against Arthur’s as he did it. This was a trick he’d used before, and it seemed to be one that went over well, staying clothed himself and overwhelming the nude man under him with his size and strength. The trick was not to be too coordinated about it, to make it rough and a bit ungainly. Arthur was panting into his mouth. It was working. 

Arthur pulled away, pulling harder at the back of Eames’ shirt as he did. “Take this off.”

Eames didn’t argue, unbuttoning quickly and tossing the shirt aside. He’d been prepared to wait for Arthur to take him in with his eyes, fairly confident now in Arthur’s appreciation for his body, but he used his hands instead, reaching up and using flat palms to feel his chest. Eames stilled and watched Arthur’s hands move. They stopped at his belt. “Will you take the rest off now?” His voice was small and shaky, and it was most definitely a request and not an order. Eames twitched in response. Jesus, he’d had no idea Arthur could be like this. And then it got even more amazing when he said, quietly, “please?”

Eames rose silently. He was tempted to ask Arthur about this incredible change in him, about whether this was the person he always was in bed, about whether it was hard to hold both this creature and the incredible hardass he usually was together in one body. He thought better of it, though. He could ask later. Right now, there was no reason to rock this boat. He watched Arthur’s face as he took off his clothes, and caught the lifted eyebrows when he took out his cock. Perfect.

For a long moment, Eames just let Arthur look at him. He was proud of his body--prouder than he should be, most likely. It was a strange thing to spend so much of his professional time either actually in other people’s bodies, or trying to hide his so that it wouldn’t be a distraction to anything else he was trying to get away with. He didn’t get to show it off as much as he’d like, and there was nothing better than showing it off this way, to someone whose fingers were clearly itching to touch him. Part of sexual desire was always the gratification of your own ego, and he couldn’t imagine anything gratifying his quite so much as the hungry look on Arthur’s face. “Jesus,” Arthur muttered, “how fucking much do you work out?”

Eames couldn’t help but laugh. Trust Arthur to skip right over the compliments and want to know about the process. “A lot.” He moved back toward the bed. 

“Hang on, please.” The hand gesture Arthur was making was one Eames recognized from a million conversations on jobs, Arthur trying to shut him up so he could talk. But the voice was still new, breathier and younger. “Just let me look at you another minute.”

That shocked another laugh out of Eames. “Your wish is my command, princess.” He was almost sorry as soon as he said it, expecting a swift rebuke, but when none came, he did a little turn, making sure Arthur had a chance to admire the view from the back as well. 

When Arthur’s arm fell, Eames took it as a sign he was allowed to return to the bed. He climbed up and pushed Arthur back a bit so he could straddle his narrow hips, pinning Arthur in with his thighs, letting their cocks brush together against Arthur’s stomach. He was surprised at the depth of Arthur’s groan, and at the sharp twitch of his straining dick.

“My, you are worked up,” Eames ran his finger down Arthur’s chest and around his cock, making sure not to actually touch it. “Been a bit, has it?” He was getting into his groove now, realizing that Arthur did indeed want to be treated like this, that he could get away with it.

The glare Arthur shot him didn’t come close to looking real. “None of your fucking business.” God bless him for trying, but if he thought that was his normal voice, he was way off.

Eames couldn’t help but laugh again. “Better be nice to me, or I’ll leave you here like this. All flushed and wanting.” 

Arthur found room to buck up against him a bit. “No you won’t.”

That was certainly true. “No,” Eames agreed, “I won’t.” He reached down and forced himself to remain casual and collected as he ran the tip of his thumb over the head of Arthur’s cock. 

The shudder he got in response was so gratifying Eames nearly let out a whoop of victory, but he saw Arthur clamp his mouth together hard, trying not to make noise. It was so fucking cute.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? Gonna make me work for it, are you?” Eames was delighted with that proposition. Much as he was loving this soft, compliant Arthur, he was never averse to putting in the effort. He moved down Arthur’s body, holding his face close to Arthur’s cock and licking his lips, then pursed his mouth into a thoughtful pout. Eames was well aware of what his mouth did to people, and was in no way above using it to his advantage.  
“I’m not going to beg,” Arthur said, in a voice that sounded very close to begging. 

Eames stayed where he was. “By the time I’m done, you might.” He hadn’t intended to say it aloud, but it seemed OK that he had. He twisted his head and rubbed the stubble on his cheek against Arthur’s cock and felt Arthur’s hands fist into the covers on the bed. There we go. He chuckled softly and let his breathe blow against Arthur’s hot flesh, then moved down and dragged his lips, chastely closed, up the underside of Arthur’s prick.

This time, he did get a noise. A gorgeous one, full of desire and frustration. It was over quickly, and Arthur was clearly forcing himself not to make another one. Stubborn git.

As he continued his tease, Eames rapidly considered all of the potential outcomes here. It was clear Arthur wanted him to be in charge, and he was fine with that, but it was such a strange challenge, given every single moment of their previous relationship. He was having a hard time not reverting to asking rather than telling. Trust Arthur to keep him off-balance even in an arena where he was usually so confident. There was nothing to do but see it out. The chances that Arthur would suddenly and brutally change his mind seemed to lessen with each moment, so it was worth taking the gamble. Especially given the payout. Decision made, Eames stopped teasing, taking Arthur down in one hot inhalation and moaning around him. 

It was a bit difficult to see through his suddenly watering eyes, but Arthur’s reaction seemed positive. He gasped and his head hit the headboard when he threw it back. That was all Eames needed to continue, and he sucked Arthur fast and deep and rough. It wasn’t a technique he used often--most men just did not want to have their dicks manhandled that much--but he had a feeling it would be appreciated here. 

“Fuck, FUCK, Eames!” Arthur was yelling, and Eames felt it surge through him, his already impossibly hard cock jumping in response. He didn’t stop or slow, continuing his mouth’s assault on Arthur’s cock, even though it hurt quite a lot and he hadn’t breathed in some time. Arthur’s hips thrust up now, fucking him in the mouth. 

Knowing morphology was going to force him to take a break soon, Eames threw one arm under Arthur on his next thrust, continuing to suck him down, but holding his hips up. “Up,” he ordered, his mouth still full and the words muffled. He continued to suck as he helped Arthur to his knees.

Eames still couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t going to be stopped, and possibly shot, but he was in too far to back down now. He continued to put his all into the blow job, but he lifted two fingers to Arthur’s mouth. He smiled around Arthur’s cock when he felt them get sucked in, then wrapped with Arthur’s tongue, getting wet as fast as possible. He pulled them free, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s waist and sliding the wet digits down the crack of his ass. They weren’t as wet as he would have liked by the time they reached their intended destination, but he could deal with that later. He began to slowly tease Arthur’s hole, continuing hard, consistent pressure on his cock.  
Arthur’s immediately thrusting hips told Eames he was on the right track. He kept his fingers outside Arthur’s body, using the pad of his thumb and rubbing gently, in opposition to his mouth, which continued to suck hard and deep. “Go ahead,” Arthur said, his voice wrecked. “I’m so close already.” 

Though he didn’t have a whole lot of sense left, Eames knew that no matter what Arthur said, him shoving mostly dry fingers up his arse was probably not what he wanted. Instead, he continued what he was doing, matching the light, dry teasing with hard, wet gulps at Arthur’s cock, slurping around it lewdly. Arthur grabbed his hair and pulled, and it zinged through him. “Fuck, FUCK! I’m gonna come.” Though he heard the warning, Eames waited another second, considering swallowing it down. He wasn’t sure that was what Arthur was asking for, though, so he finally pulled off, just in time to push himself to his knees and watch in fascination as Arthur came into his fist.

Arthur’s body continued to rock as he came, pushing back against Eames’ fingers and forward into his hand. He swore, gasped, said Eames’ name. Eames kept a hand on him until he saw him wince, then dropped his cock gently against his leg. He wrapped both arms around him, holding him up against his chest, then slid his come-covered hand down Arthur’s ass and, holding him open with the dry hand already there, slid one finger all the way in. 

“Fuck,” Arthur hissed. He was impossibly tight, squeezing just one finger like a vice.

“Shh, I got you,” Eames murmured, not removing the finger, but moving it very slowly. 

Arthur’s next words were soft, right against Eames’ ear. His hissing curse was gone, replaced by the breathy voice he’d used earlier. “Are you going to fuck me dry?”

Eames nearly shook with the wave of arousal that brought. Partially, it was the voice. Partially, it was the idea. It wasn’t what he’d been thinking, but holy fuck, the idea that he could, that Arthur would let him. He pulled himself back under control. Given the possibility that could go disastrously, horribly wrong, it was best not to even consider it. “No,” he said, working a slow second finger in and holding his voice steady. “That would hurt.”

He half expected Arthur to argue--the man wasn’t good with having his ideas brushed aside--and watching his face, Eames saw a bit of suppressed irritation. It made him wonder if being fucked dry was something Arthur liked. The thought was soon chased away, though, as Arthur looked at him through his eyelashes, using that voice, again. “You are going to fuck me, though?”

The thing that really got to Eames was that it was a question--Arthur wasn’t telling, he was asking. He had no idea he could be so aroused by that. “Yes. God yes.” He wasn’t going to wait anymore, not if Arthur was ready. “Scoot,” he ordered, pushing Arthur up the bed and pulling his fingers out. As Arthur moved back, he leaned over to grab a condom and lube from the nightstand. 

As soon as he was within reach, Arthur’s mouth was on him, his tongue running a trail down his navel and then all the way down his cock. His tongue felt like it was on fire. 

“Ahhhh,” Eames exhaled and backed up quickly. He couldn’t let that happen, or he wouldn’t be able to do anything else. “Much as I’d like that, love, this isn’t going to last long that way.”

There was that smirk. It was comforting to see that the Arthur with whom Eames was acquainted was still definitely in there. Eames opened the lube bottle and wet his fingers. He was impressed with himself for being able to keep it together this long, but it was fraying. 

Arthur spread his legs wide as he watched Eames slick his fingers. Eames pushed two slick fingers back in, and Arthur moved hard against his hand. “Not too much prep,” Arthur said, his voice somewhere between an order and a breathy request. “I want to feel you.” He reached for Eames cock and pulled it toward him a bit. 

“I promise, you’ll be able to feel me.” Eames was grateful for Arthur’s willingness to speed things up, because he wasn’t going to be able to take this a whole lot longer. He added a third finger quickly, moving all three apart to open Arthur further, using his other hand to hold Arthur down against the bed. “Hold still.”

For a few seconds, Eames concentrated fully on his task, scissoring his fingers inside Arthur, absently rubbing around the outside ring with his thumb. “Goddamn.” Arthur’s voice was back to breathlessness, to desire, to demand. “I’m ready. I’m ready.”

Eames stopped moving his fingers, but left them where they were, forcing himself to wait. He wasn’t going to make a mistake here. He knew now that he was going to be aching for a second go at this, and there was no way to ensure that without making the first impression count. “What is it you’re ready for, then?” he asked, smirking.

“Goddammit Eames,” Arthur squirmed, looking annoyed and pushing up against Eames’ palm. “You know what I want.”

It was suddenly essential to have him say it. He didn’t want there to be any chance, however slim, that Arthur could later say this wasn’t what he wanted. “I do,” Eames nodded, moving closer to Arthur’s face while his fingers were still motionless in Arthur’s body. “But I want to hear you say it.” He drew back, making sure Arthur couldn’t reach him anymore, and began to move his fingers again, very slowly. 

He could see Arthur deciding, weighing whether to give in. For an instant, he felt foolish, knowing he was about to get smacked down, his mind already running through possible ways to get Arthur to let him fuck him anyway. Then Arthur surprised him again. “I want you to fuck me,” he said. His voice wasn’t breathless, but low and clear. This wasn’t a request anymore, it was an order. “I want you inside me. And I want it now.”

He certainly wasn’t going to get a clearer green light than that. “OK,” he said quickly, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the bedspread, reaching for the condom with the other hand. He knew Arthur was staring at him as he rolled it on, and, if it was possible, that made him even harder.

Though he’d have liked to have Arthur face-to-face, where he could gauge every reaction, it seemed more prudent to give himself the advantage of not being seen and making a fool of himself. “Turn over,” he said. Arthur did it immediately, resting his head against the pillow, his arse high in the air. Eames ran his hands over Arthur, stopping for just a moment to admire his rather incredible arse. “So lovely,” he murmured, then “spread your legs.” He pushed at Arthur’s legs, making them wider than could be comfortable. He wanted to remain in control here, and one way to do that was to make sure Arthur couldn’t easily move. “Don’t hold your breath,” he ordered.

He didn’t warn Arthur, and he didn’t go incrementally. He shoved all the way in on one stroke, sudden and intense. There weren’t a ton of partners he’d do that with--it could be very off-putting, but it was honestly his favorite way to begin. He loved the way his entire cock was almost simultaneously hit with the hot, tight intensity of being inside someone else’s body. He also really liked the view, watching himself quickly disappear. “FUCK,” Arthur yelled, clearly surprised. Eames didn’t give him an opportunity to decide he didn’t like it, though, grabbing his hips immediately, pulling most of the way out, and pushing in hard again. 

After three or four similar thrusts, Eames felt Arthur give way. He’d been holding his breath, afraid he’d misjudged, but Arthur’s body adjusted and began to move, Eames held him by the hips and kept riding through it, and he was rewarded by an arched back and a stream of curses. 

“There you are,” Eames muttered, “let me take over now.” Arthur did, his body reacting immediately to everything Eames’ body suggested, every nudge, every change in timing. Eames shoved him down so his legs spread farther, and he didn’t protest, but held the position. Reaching around to find him half-hard again, Eames picked one of Arthur’s hands up off the sheets and wrapped it around his cock. 

Though he’d given it his all, Eames knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. It was just too much, from Arthur’s body on the dance floor to now. “Jesus Christ, so bloody gorgeous,” he muttered, watching himself slam into Arthur again and again, Arthur’s legs spread so wide, the muscles in his back flexing to keep himself upright. “Fuck, so tight, so hot.” He tried to keep himself from saying anything too stupid, but it was really too late for censorship. “I always wondered,” he babbled, “had no fuckin’ idea.” Then he couldn’t fight it anymore, and he didn’t even warn Arthur before he came so hard his head felt like it rotated on his neck, groaning loudly and clutching madly at whatever bits of Arthur’s skin he could reach. Arthur reacted perfectly, rocking back against him, gradually slowing, riding it out. Eames shuddered, his whole body twitching with the intensity of it. Finally, Arthur fell forward. It took the very last of Eames’ reason to fall next to him, rather than directly on top of him. 

The silence lasted quite a while, both of them breathing hard. Waiting for reason to return, Eames behaved by rote, taking off the condom, tying it, tossing it. Then he propped himself up on one elbow, looking hard at Arthur. He looked oddly peaceful, his eyes closed, though his cock was still half-hard and his hand was still wrapped loosely around it. “Can I help you?” Arthur asked, opening one eye and glaring.

That look, that tone--it was just so very Arthur. Eames couldn’t help his laughter. “Can you help me? Oh Jesus, Arthur.” He felt giddy. He reached for Arthur’s cock, replacing Arthur’s hand with his own. He was still laughing when he said, “shall I help you?”

Arthur pushed his hand away, but he was smiling. “Give me a fucking minute,” he said. Eames was amazed at how different his face looked, no lines of worry, no scowl. He almost looked happy. He looked up and met Eames’ eyes. “You’re going to make me talk about this, aren’t you?”

Eames grinned even wider at the idea that he could make Arthur do anything, but bravado seemed best. “I am, darling. But don’t worry--I’m not going to make you do it tonight.” He reached back for Arthur, tracing his ribs with a single finger, then dipping his thumb into the well of his belly button. He was already thinking about a second round, though it was likely going to be a bit before he could muster up the energy, or the erection. “There are other things to do tonight.”

It was a cheesy line, and Arthur groaned as expected. He was still smiling, though, and he didn’t say no.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to another story of mine, [The Altar is Anywhere You Kneel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12503612). That's the exact same story, from Arthur's perspective.
> 
> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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